Under the Redbuds: 2

Summary

It had been just fireside talk from the beginning, born in the frustrated minds of snow-bound Nebraska landowners as they warmed around the pot-bellied stove in the general store. But, as sometimes happens to frustrated talk, the words took legs.
All that was left to do was a lot of work, a long summer ahead and maybe a harder winter, but no one was ready to back out. Like a snowball on a hill, there comes a time that the weight of it is too great to stop.

FROM GUNSHOT TO HOMESTEAD is book one of an eight book series, DEEP FORK RIVER, OKLAHOMA TERRITORY.

This series took place in a unique period of history when new land was deeded on the basis of a gunshot and a footrace. The central nugget of land in the Oklahoma Territory was advertised for settlement, quarter sections were marked out and on the 22 of April, l889 the local Cavalry and other officials started the race at the shot of a gun. On foot... on horses in wagons and in buggies, they struggled for a place to put down roots.

Each of these books brings a different family, person, or in one incident, a whole town to settle in the new land. The small town fictional town of Prosper was settled by these immigrants and others. It is generally thought that this incident was the only one of its kind in history.

Book one. FROM GUNSHOT TO HOMKESTEAD. A 22 year old young lady and her father make a night flight to protect a small girl from kidnap.

Book two. UNDER THE REDBUDS. An idea born in a Nebraska storm gives birth to a snowball of activity for half a town.

Book three. TREK THROUGH THE WILDERNESS. A young Kentucky preacher follows a strange guide with the help of a strong young lady.

Book four. OF BOOMERS AND SOONERS. Free land was passed out, but some of it was already occupied. A man does what he had to do.

Book five. IN OCTOBER SUNSHINE. The lady, no longer young, realized she permitted herself to be a follower all her life. It was not her time to lead.

Book six. BEHIND EVERY CLOUD. Young victim of circumstances feels she finally deserves a silver lining, if she can just turn that cloud around.

Book seven. TO THE PROMISED LAND. Young Camille experiences what no girl should experience, but some things happen in the best families.

Book eight. WITH A SONG IN THE NIGHT. Two young girls who have never met are thrown together in desperate circumstances.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

It all started back in January when Clyde Kendall and Clancy Harper ducked into Hewett’s General Store to thaw out from the blue norther that had swept across southern Nebraska and headed to all points north.

They huddled over the monster stove that had been forged from solid iron and was now the source of heat for the store. The monster occupied the center of the store and gobbled three-foot logs like a king snake downing a bullfrog.

James Hewett, owner and proprietor, had just bent over the stove to poke the spent coals down into the ashbin below the firebox in order to make more room above. It was time to feed another pine log into the stove’s yawning mouth, and at that exact moment, Ed Gunther happened in.

Formalities over, the subject under current discussion was resurrected. Still seems strange to me, havin’ a foot race to get free land. Whatever’d the government be thinkin’ on, lettin’ land go for nuthin’ that’a’way?

Another voice. Ain’t exactly to be a foot race. A body could ride a horse or a mule, or even a jackrabbit if he was a’mind to. Seems like it don’t matter, long as he pounds his claim stake in the ground sooner’n somebody else.

Speck anybody’ll show up? The whole thing looks chancy to me.

They’ll show up, all right. If ya was to try fer it and loose out, ya ain’t lost nuthin’ but time and aggravation. If ya was to win, now, that’d be a different matter.

What’d it be like down in Oklahoma territory?

Reckon it’d be a sight warmer, bein’ farther south. That’d be somethin’ to think on. My Nettie don’t do nuthin’ but complain all winter for the chill blains on ‘er feet. It’d be a relief to me, just not to have to listen.

Then a voice from the farm just south of the falls. I could do without the floods. I know it don’t bother most’a you fellows, but down where I am, that river backs up and floods over the field takin’ out a crop’a somethin’ or other, most every year.

Now Clancy Harper. Yeah, well, they’s times I find myself wantin’ to be down south at that run, just for the excitement of it all. Likely I ain’t all growed up, yet.

Same with me. Ain’t nothin happened here in Poverty Flats since that wagon train honcho passed on to his reward and left his string’a wagons out here. Seems strange to me that one of them men on that train didn’t have the moxie to pick up and go on to the coast. Then we’d all be livin’ in Californie.

Clancy agreed. You’d’a thought so. My Pa, he was twelve, and may not remember it like it actual was, but it seemed to him when the wagonmaster passed on, it flat let the air out’a their sails and they was likely tired and sore a’movin’. Named it Providence Falls, unanimous consent.

Name didn’t stick, though. Been Poverty Flats ever since I can recall.

The door to the General Store opened and a blast of wind-driven snow swirled inside practically obscuring a furclad figure. Stephen Tullius shivered dramatically, patting off the snow and stomping his ice-coated boots.

Cold ‘nuff fer ya?

Pretty near.

Clyde Kendall cleared his throat and began, Get yerself on in here, Tull, and help us out. Got us a talk a’goin’. The bunch’a us, we got it in our head to trek on down to the Oklahoma territory and get us some’a that free land.

Steven Tullius perked up with decided interest. Ya don’t say! Had the same thought myself whilst I was a’wadin’ snow up to my armpits tryin’ to take care’a the livestock. Been carryin’ around that flyer for a week, now, ‘bout to wear all the writin’ off it.

The four men huddled around the stove looking at each other, and then they stared at the newcomer. Was he serious? He sounded that way.

James Hewett poked the three-foot log into place sending a spray of sparks up into the room. You thinkin’ serious, fer a fact?

Without a pause came the reply. You bet your sweet life I’m talkin’ serious. It was so cold out my place, the milk froze in solid streams ‘afore it hit the pail. Hard on livestock, out in weather like this. You know, fer a fact, the snow in the draw got so deep it was over the fence. Had half’a herd’a sheep walk out right over the fence on the ice. Wouldn’t’a knowd they was out ‘cept I saw we had a buffalo calf walk into my field over the same fence. That calf’s ma was a’havin’ herself a hissey fit, bellerin’ at ‘im to cross back over.

The assembled men considered that strange occurance. The fact was, it didn’t sound unreasonable. Likely wasn’t.

Hmmmm. Truth be told, I ain’t been too crazy about this place, myself. Town ain’t hardly big enough for me to make a livin’ as a wheelwright, buildin’ wagons on the side. Just ain’t enough call for ‘em. Them wagons we build just last too bloomin’ long and when ya got a good wagon, with good wheels and underpinin’ like I put on ‘em, it just don’t wear out. Then if it don’t wear out, they don’t need to buy another one. It bears on my mind that I got them three grown sons under my roof with no place to go.

Clyde Kendall sighed as the problem that had weighted him down for the past year was now out in the open. A man with grown sons, ages sixteen, eighteen and twenty, had better act fast or there was the chance they’d pack up and go off on their own.

Clancy Harper, Blacksmith, faced the same problem. I’m with ya, fellow, only I got a few more years ‘fore it hits me full in the face. His sons were thirteen, ten and eight.

James Hewett opened the heavy cast iron door of the stove once more and poked at the log, settling it farther down into the bed of redhot coals. Wouldn’t take too much to make me pick up stakes and move, goin’ through winters like this’n. Don’t have no strangers comin’ through town to buy things, and the locals can’t get their doors open fer the snow. A fellow could go broke ‘afore spring.

There was long pause, during which time the huge, wind-up, 8-day clock, which sat on the letter-drop box, tick-tocked rhythmically. The snowfall had totally absorbed all outside noises, and the crackling of the wood in the stove was the only other sound as the big hand made four complete sweeps.

Hewett, was you talkin’ serious on what you said, just now?

There was a pause as the storekeeper brushed an accumulation of ash off the nail keg that served as a stool. I was a talkin’ dead serious, if’n I could for sure get me a good place in some town, I’d go. Way I read that flyer, them runs they’re havin’ is for quarter section plots, and that’d not work for me. In the sellin’ business, like I am, I need to be where folks are, them that need to buy things. That’d be all that was a’keepin’ me here. Fact is, I might even start shovelin’ the snow out’a the road and take off fer the south right now, the way I feel this minute.

Yeah, it says quarter section, all right. I wouldn’t want that much land, neither. I see they got six towns platted, with lots and everything. Ain’t big lots, though, and I don’t know if I’d like a town the size them’s gonna be. Too many strangers livin’ too close.

Ed Gunther propped his feet onto the foot-warming rail of the stove and leaned back, a clear signal that he had something important to say.

Well, Ed… ? Stephen Tullius invited.

Ed complied. Way I see it is this. Ain’t no problem a’tall. We’ll jist move the whole bloomin’ town down there. We’ll move lock, stock and barrel, and find us a better place.

The whole town, huh? All of us together?

Yep. All that wants to go, Ed Gunther refined.

’Course they’d be some that likes it here and wants to stay. Wouldn’t want them along, no how.

Just for the sound of it, Hewett, how big of a town would you want if you had the choice?

How big?

Yeah, like, how many folks’d you need to trade with you? If the town was to go, and you went along, how many households would it take to keep your shelves stocked?

James Hewett pulled up a cane bottom chair and sat down, propping his feet on the warming rail. Reaching behind him he picked up one of the many flyers describing the run and blew off the coating of fly ash from the stove.

This would take a little thought, and there certainly weren’t any customers out in this storm to be waited on, nor were there likely to be. He picked up a pencil stub and tapped his teeth with the lead. The other four men waited in respectful silence, each considering what his own answer would be.

Well, now this here ain’t writ in stone, and it’s only words off the top’a my head. But if I was to put down a bottom number, it’d likely be twelve, maybe fifteen. Course, now, if there was to be twenty or more, that’d be a sure thing.

A moment of silence followed, as each man digested this fact.

After further thought, he added, Now, if we was to get one of them tracts, they’d have all kinds’a other folks livin’ outside the town. That’d add to the number. The thing of it is, though, them tracts so big there’d not be many homesites within walking distance.

Clancy Harper added, For my part, blacksmithin’ don’t take up much room, and I’d mainly want a house and garden, a place to grow my own animal fodder, and my shop. I got two acres here, and I make out. With my boys a’comin’ on, I’d want close to five acres, I calculate.

Five acres’d be a good size for me, too, Tullius agreed. That there grist mill’a mine, it don’t use up more’n a half acre, all told.

You’d take it along?

Tullius looked at Clyde Kendall in surprise. Why’d I not? It’s what I do, and folks is always needin’ somethin’ ground up. My grandpappy freighted them parts in from the east, across the Mississippi, and my Pa, rest his soul, made good use of ‘em. I wouldn’t no more think’a leavin’ that mill behind than you’d leave the tools’a your trade.

The minute hand of the clock on the letter-drop box made five more turns at which time the door burst open again, and from the swirling snow evolved two furclad figures.

Cold enough fer ya?

Pretty near.

Drag up a couple’a chairs and help us out. We’re ‘bout to get us a deal to move the whole town down to the Oklahoma territory.

The whole town?

Them as wants to go. We been settin’ here thinkin’ of first this and that of the things we’d like to change, and we allow this’d give us the chance to get it done.

You’all serious?

Yep. Seem to be.

Hewett says he could be up to it.

Yeah. Says we’ll need at least a dozen families to go along. Ain’t that what you said, Hewett?

Well, I…

Hamp, the elder of the Baker brothers, cut in. "Cause the reason I asked, me’n Bart, here, we put our heads on our problem, havin’ nothin’ else to do, and we put two and two together. First, there ain’t much well diggin’ goin’ on in the winter, makin’ summer too busy and winter too long. And the thing is, summers ain’t been too good, of late. Not enough new people

Hamp propped his feet onto the warming rail and leaned back in his cane bottom chair. All eyes turned toward him.

Way I see it, folks’ll be goin’ down there in droves and herds, and every single one of ‘em’ll have to have a well. If me and Bart was to get land, that’d be good, but if we didn’t, there’d be a place for us to stay somewheres, and when we worked a while, we could come back for the wives. Seems there’d be all the work a well-digger’d want for the next ten years and then some.

Clyde Kendall, wheelwright, cleared his throat. We could put you down for a five acre tract, then?

The propped back chair landed with its four legs back on the floor and Hamp Baker stared, frowning at the group. You meanin’ to tell me you fellows got so far as talkin’ about the lot size, and not a word was leaked to Bart’n me? What kind’a friend’d that be?

Keep yer shirt on, Hamp. Subject didn’t come up till less’n a hour ago. Barely got ourselves waded out into the talkin’, and here you come in. Good thing, too. You’d be the one to help us sign up families enough, you bein’ able to guarantee a well.

How many lots you thinkin’ there’ll be?

Ain’t set pen to paper, but I’d wager 25 to 30.

"Tell you what, me’n Bart, we’ll sign you up a dozen families, and we’ll make the run. What we got’a have out’a the deal is the guarantee to put a well on every lot. That’d be enough to get us started, and folks’d need a well

Way I see it, not all the lots’d be sold, right off. Quick as the next folks bought lots, the first twelve of us, we’d get our money back. A town got’a have money to run on, ya know, for the school and church’n all the stuff a town got’a pay for.

A long pause followed. Talk was getting serious. It would be too easy for snowbound men in a warm store building to say too much and be sorry, later. Picking up and moving a business and a family, well now, that was a serious thing, and there were wives at home to be consulted.

Clancy Harper picked up a circular and turned it over to its clean side. One quarter section of land, that’d be 160 acres. Divide by 5 acres, that’d make thirty-two lots, but they’d have the street easement took out’a that. What’s left’d be enough for me. I’d hand over my twenty five dollars this minute if the thing was set in concrete and I could start plannin’ toward goin’ down there in the spring.

More silence. Clancy putting solid figures to the abstract words put a finality to the venture. Thoughts of how to approach their wives began running through their heads.

Hey, fellows, back up.

What’d’ya mean, Hamp?

Think what we’re doin’? We’re sittin’ here by Hewett’s fire, talkin’ like it was a done deal. First off, we ain’t got that quarter section, and even us goin’ down to the run, that’ll not guarantee we’ll get somethin’. Folks’ll be gathered round them borders worser’n Coxie’s army a’raidin’ the southern plantations. ‘Afore we start plantin’ beans, we got’a get the land.

What’d’ya suggest?

Well, for starters, me and Bart, we’re goin’. Done made up our minds. For what we do, we’d rather have a town lot than a quarter section and have it stuck out a long way from nowhere. Now if there was to be several more wantin’ to make the run, we could take fast horses’n head on out, and likely one of us’d get one.

Maybe more’n one?

Could be.

That’d be good.

Yeah, then we’d have a thing to sell, all them extra tracts we get, and we’d all get our twenty five dollars back right away, wouldn’t we?

Ed Gunther was making mental calculations. Talking his Nettie into the trip would be no challenge. Nettie was ready for anything and everything. A right stand-up kind’a girl was his Nettie, and even